Invention's Mother
by manhattan martini
Summary: Four unrelated trainers find shelter in a secret base.
1. old yellow bricks

**A/N:** This is an attempt at writing a fic that deals with a more realistic (and gritty, I guess) view of the pokémon world. I've toyed with the idea of stranded trainers in trouble before, but I never really got anywhere until I decided to write this fic. This is also an attempt to create characters with backstory, instead of the regular OC beginning a journey. If anyone with experience in writing would like to beta this, please send me a PM or reach me at my tumblr (the link is in my profile).

French isn't my native language, so if there's a mistake anywhere, please tell me! I'm looking for critique, too, since I'm not used to using OCs or writing action scenes, so please drop me a line!

* * *

**Chapter One:  
A Partree of Four**

_._

_._

_Ms. Tolbert_, Mr. Lehrer had said, years ago, when she was just a wisp of a girl, _while I admire your tenacity and your obvious mental strength – please never forget to think before you act. One day, it might save your life. Or _(and he'd sighed, like he was carrying the weight of the world), _at the very least, someone else's. _Claire often replayed this particular piece of advice to herself, though she opted to forget about it when the push came to shove. It was easier, simply, to listen only to herself – and it had never failed her before.

"Oof!" She fell on her side. The mud splattered onto her cheek, her right eye; despite the heavy rain, she could feel warm, wet breath by her calf. Claire brought her legs up, sliding across the dirt, and then cursed herself for having been so hasty. "Lambert, come up _already!_ Shit—"

_But, Mr. Lehrer,_ she'd retorted, crossing her arms, _Papa says that if I can't take care of myself, then no one else can do it for me! And I'm still here, aren't I?_

She finally managed to get a good hold on the floor and crawled up, dismissing the sound of jowls closing behind her; her ribcage throbbed beneath her skin, but she was, thankfully, feeling quite numb on account of the cold weather. With a quick look back, Claire confirmed she was still in danger – the mightyena that had been following her were still close, too close, and she was starting to realize she was having a hard time escaping them.

_Yes, Ms. Tolbert, you certainly are,_ Mr. Lehrer had said, then, sighing once more. He'd taken off his glasses, wiping them on his shirt distractedly, and then stared at them, apparently lost in thought. Claire had thought he'd looked sad, or at least tired, very tired, but she only stared at him, impatient. Eventually, he'd put his glasses back on. _Fine, Ms. Tolbert; if you have your father's permission, then I suppose there is not much I can do. You clearly look rather excited about it; there's no chance of dissuading you, is there?_

The smaller one had been gone a few minutes, but Claire knew it was probably just trying to find an alternate route to her. In the rain, the tall grass quivered regardless of having pokémon running inside it or not – she cursed herself again, and then shouted profanities at the skies, still skidding backwards. Thankfully, the bigger mightyena seemed to have as much difficulty with the mud as she did. Though it did skid far more gracefully than Claire, she grudgingly admitted to herself.

"Lambert! God damn it!" she shouted, blindly groping at her waist. Her blond hair was matted against her eyes, heavy with rain and mud, and she didn't want to waste time just to get it out of her face. If she stopped scrambling backwards, the mightyena would finally cut the distance she'd been trying so hard to keep between them. But she couldn't risk sending out Bjorg, who would inevitably sink down through the mud, or Victor, who wouldn't win against one mightyena fast enough. Bitterly, she thought: _I should've just sent out Capucine when I had the time_. But there was no use in thinking and rethinking about her mistakes. She would have time for that later, when she got out of this mess.

Her back struck a soft, sturdy surface, and Claire couldn't help but to grin wildly – but her fiery mood was abruptly extinguished when she remembered Lambert was the one she'd taught secret power to. A coldness that had nothing to do with the weather spread across her limbs, as the mightyena's red eyes drew slowly closer, its mouth ripped into a victorious smile. It was growling, Claire realized, and she shoved her hair out of the way with her wrist, trying to see which pokéball was Capucine's.

_No, Mr. Lehrer,_ she'd said, nodding once, perfectly determined, _I am going to become League Champion, and no one can stop me._

It was flattening itself against the ground, now, and the sound of its growl made its way across the dirt and straight into Claire's ears. She tensed, hand on her waist, momentarily frozen, and immediately knew she'd undone herself because of that. The mightyena jumped; she kept her eyes open, willing to face it, willing to see it rip out her throat—

Lambert came spinning out of the mud, its claws slashing across the mightyena's stomach in a crossing movement. The pokémon snarled viciously, but fell short, thrown across the tall grass, curling into a miserable position. Lambert's paws were bloody, Claire noticed, but there was no time to care about having killed (had she?) a wild pokémon.

"Secret power, _now_," she said, breathless, her stomach still doing sit-ups.

Lambert nodded, nearing the shrub she was leaning against, and then Claire saw the other mightyena. It was circling Big's—an honorary nickname; Claire thought it was about time that stupid animal got one—unconscious body, fangs bared, eyes wide. It was_smiling_ at her.

Claire scrambled after her sandslash, turning away from that terrifying grin, despite the urge to flip it the bird before entering the secret base.

* * *

She sat up against the entrance of the secret cave, catching her breath. After returning Lambert to his pokéball (the fight had taken more from him than Claire had expected), she closed her eyes and thought.

Mr. Lehrer had been her teacher, years ago, when she was still living in Mossdeep. Claire dimly realized she'd been thinking about him while she was on the run from Big and Smile (she snorted), though she didn't know why. That had been the last time they'd talked, too. Soon after, she'd received her trainer's license and she'd left Mossdeep behind. How old had she been then – ten? She'd been so young. Her father had been even more ecstatic than she'd been. _It's family tradition, requin._

How stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Claire smacked her head into the leafy wall one last time and then sighed. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, she'd noticed just how sore her right rib was. She'd fell on it, she knew, back when she'd lost her footing and slid all the way down, but it had been cold and she'd been fighting to get away from Big's jowls – she had barely even noticed the pain. Her knees were scraped, as well, but she was more than used to light wounds like that; it was the fact it was very hard to breathe that worried her.

"Va te faire foutre, mightyena," she hissed, under her breath. "No offense, Victor," she added hastily, hands pushing against the floor so as to avoid putting too much strain on her stomach.

Claire had never been the one for secret bases. She knew they came in handy – but somehow, it seemed weak to give up halfway into a route. Real trainers trudged through weather and terrain until they reached the next pokécenter. That was the way it should be. But then again, here she was, pressing a shaking hand against her side, leaning against the walls as she carefully stepped forward. If Alex could see her now …

She searched through her pocket for her pokénav – she wanted to see where she was at the moment. Rolling the device in her palm, she was dismayed to see it didn't turn on. It was wet, and when she shook it, feeling frustrated, she could hear something sloshing inside it. She was about to release a string of profanities when she realized something was off.

"Lambert," Claire muttered, stopping on her tracks and releasing her sandslash. The secret base smelled of rain and grass, but there was something else – was it sweat? Or was that just her? She attempted to look inside, but the lack of sunlight outside didn't allow her to see as well as she ordinarily would have. It was a wide space, funneling into a narrow path which, she assumed, widened into another room. At least it was spacious – she'd been inside secret bases that had nothing but twisty pathways.

Lambert halted, sharpening its claws in anticipation.

"D'you see anything?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

Lambert stilled, blinking twice, and then lunged, disappearing through the narrow path.

"Whoa, _whoa_, hold your horses, man—" someone called suddenly, voice high and anxious. Claire's heart was beating in her chest as she stepped forward, straining to see, until she finally found the source of the yell.

A boy – younger than her, maybe? Shorter, though – was being pressed into the farthest wall of the second room, Lambert's right claw hovering above his Adam's apple. It bobbed when he swallowed, his eyes on hers.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and then felt stupid. It was a secret base, after all; he was probably taking shelter from the rain. Or maybe he'd been ambushed by the pack, as well.

His eyes flickered – like he'd been about to roll them but decided against it in the end.

"It's a secret base," he said flatly. "You mind getting your bodyguard off me already? Christ."

"Lambert," she called. Her sandslash eased, taking a few steps back, but kept his gaze pinned on the smaller boy. "I didn't notice a previous entry. How did you get in?"

"There's different ways to get inside a shrub apart from drilling a hole into it, you know."

Claire was starting to lose her patience. All she'd wanted was a peaceful time-out from the rain and the mightyena, but now she had to share a limited space with a sarcastic-looking kid? _Just great_, she thought.

"Okay, look," he continued, holding his hands up, "neither of us want to go out into that rain again, and I'm guessing that – as the mature, level-headed trainers we are – we can share this secret base for a while. I'm Mike, Mike Bonham," he added, extending a confident hand.

Lambert looked curiously at her. Claire frowned, but nodded, ignoring his hand and waving from afar.

"Claire—" _Tolbert_, she almost said, but then decided against it.

If he was bothered by her distance, he didn't show it, letting his hand drop easily and turning to look at Lambert instead. He whistled appreciatively.

"Nice-looking sandlash you got here! What's its – his? His nature?"

"Serious," she said, off-handedly, limping towards the nearest wall. Sitting down with a grimace, she took off her bag and sighed. "What kind of trainer are you?"

The question seemed to surprise Mike, who raised his eyebrows for a split second—but then he smiled easily and shrugged.

"I dunno, man. I'm just a trainer. Why do we feel the need of giving ourselves titles? Ace trainer, psychic trainers—" he snorted briefly, but went on, "—who cares? I'd rather be a trainer who wins." He sat down again, running his hand through his short, dark hair. "Why? D'you have a title?"

"No," she said sparingly, searching through her bag for pain killers. She knew she had them – she'd bought a box in Fortree, just in case – but she was quickly getting frustrated from rummaging around without success.

"You look like an ace to me," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. "Hey, haven't I seen you before? Have you given any interviews to Gabby and Ty lately?"

"Mm," she said, finally feeling the card box slide against her wet fingers. Pulling it out, she pressed her thumb against two capsuled pills, letting them fall into her hand.

"What's that? You sick?"

She was starting to get annoyed by the boy's motor-mouth – wasn't it obvious that she wasn't in the mood for talking? In fact, she wasn't in the mood for a lot of things, apart from a shower and clean, dry clothes. Mike's almond-shaped eyes were on her still, waiting for an answer. Claire ignored him, popping the pills in her mouth and swallowing in dry. She didn't have a lot of water, and she'd rather save it – you never know.

_Half an hour until the effects kick in_, she thought, while skimming through the package's instructions; she closed the card box and placed it inside of her bag once more. She had a few sets of clothes in there, but she didn't know if changing was worth it. Her hair was still dripping—in fact, Claire herself was dripping—and she had no means to dry herself. But she didn't want to risk hypothermia, either.

"Do you have any fire pokémon?"

Mike shook his head, watching as Lambert curled itself into a ball and rolled towards Claire. She returned him to her pokéball, feeling a little guilty – he was tired, and she'd spent her last super potion on Océane … Of course she'd feel guilty. How could have she forgotten to stock up on medicine? It wasn't her fault entirely – not with the horde of Team Aqua members that seemed to have sprouted out of the floor – but she still shouldn't have forgotten. She never did.

"I _could_ ask my altaria to dry you out," he said, slowly, "but he's pretty worn out."

Claire raised her head, frowning.

"Hey, don't give me that look. I gotta survive somehow."

"Va te faire foutre," she hissed. "Do I _look_ like I have healing items on me right now? Or would you like me to pay you in cash for doing the right thing and helping a fellow trainer out?"

"Wow, you speak French?" Mike exclaimed, suddenly straightening. "Are you from Kalos? I'm from Fallarbor, by the way – it's the first time I meet someone from Kalos! Is it true that all girls are blond there?"

Claire resisted the urge to flip him off.

"I don't know," she said coolly. "I was only born there. I've lived in Hoenn my entire life."

"Oh," Mike replied, deflating. He was back on attack a second after. "Still, you speak French! Are your parents from Kalos? Where were you born – Lumiose? What else can you say in French?"

"Casse toi," she said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

Mike thankfully did not breach conversation for a few minutes, and that was all Claire needed to fall asleep, one hand on her belt and another on her bag.

* * *

She was on a stage; the glare of the lights had her narrowing her eyes, but she was in her element. The arena was well-swept, well-kept, well-everything. The crème de la crème. The audience was breathless, in silence, as Claire exchanged looks with Steven. He looked as calm and collected as ever – not that she'd ever met him in person before, but the press sure had, and they loved having his handsome face plastered all over the place.

One day, it would be hers.

Steven nodded, throwing out his aggron, and Claire threw Lambert's pokéball – only Lambert was a golbat instead, and he was smirking smugly at her, tongue lolling, his wing flashing with a steely glint.

And Claire, well, Claire couldn't let anyone else beat that golbat.

But Steven's aggron was running at him, and Claire was shouting "get out of the way!", but of course her mother didn't hear her, and, well, it wasn't like Claire had ever even _met_ her, after all, just her dad, who was now serving her a plate of pancakes – slightly burned – and telling her, _mon petite requin_, _la championne chérie de son papa _…

* * *

Claire woke up with a loud, long crashing noise; when she attempted to get on her feet (a reflex honed by years on the road), her ribs kept her from doing so. She inhaled sharply, wincing, but, between the haze of pain, she noticed Mike getting on his feet, his eyes narrowed. She didn't think he'd noticed she'd woken up.

Mike released a seviper, quick eyes darting around, searching for the source of the noise; he looked different, somehow. Sharper? Claire watched him take sure, careful steps, taking in the scene.

"Find them," he murmured, and the seviper's tongue slipped out of its smirking mouth, tasting the air. The snake slithered across the floor, almost opulent, and stopped at the entrance Claire had opened before. Its (Claire had never been any good at analyzing a pokémon's sex) tail looked sharp, too – a sign of a competent trainer.

The seviper turned its head to look at Mike, waiting for instructions, and Claire felt a sharp pang of jealousy. Seviper were hard to handle, and even harder to train, but Mike seemed to have managed rather well.

"Alive, for now," he decided, and seviper was about to slip through the small opening when the leafy wall was ripped apart by muddy paws. A persian landed – quite gracefully – on the tiny square of floor that wasn't being occupied by seviper's body. It gave seviper an unimpressed look, its tail swishing back and forth.

Mike's expression didn't change, although Claire noticed his shoulders relaxing minutely.

"Stand down, Hemlock," he said, this time with a casual tone, and his seviper returned to him, curling around his legs like a strange rendition of a cat. The persian was looking rather affronted, but Claire didn't have the time to feel amused – through the hole the feline had ripped apart, two people were staggering in.

Mike sighed, running a hand down his face, and then returned seviper to its ball.

"Howdy, fellas," he said, rather brightly for someone who had just been faced with a potentially life-threatening situation, "what brings you here today?"

There were two of them, Claire noticed. The girl seemed to be around her age, give or take a year, and she was leaning her weight on the taller young man. It looked as though she'd fainted – or at least, it looked like she was close to doing so.

"Oh, sorry – I didn't notice this was taken," he said stupidly. Claire rolled her eyes.

"It's fine," Mike said, glancing over to the sick-looking girl. He whistled. "_Hello, _nurse! What's going on with the lady over there?"

"Maybe you could help instead of just talking," Claire said, before she could stop herself. Mike and the young man seemed startled by her sudden appearance, and she felt a little satisfied about it. With a grimace, she stood up, one hand on the wall. Mike was looking at her with an odd expression, but she hardly took notice of it. "Lay her down over there, or something. What happened? And close the entrance_ already_," she added, in a growl.

"O-Oh, um," the young man said, looking at a loss. His persian thankfully seemed to understand her request, turning its back on them in order to disguise the secret base's entrance. The young man stared at her, then, but Claire had bigger issues to take care of.

"Do you have a laptop with you?" she asked Mike, who shook his head almost immediately.

"I don't decorate secret bases," he replied, with a shrug.

_We have that in common_, Claire thought, turning towards the young man, who was now carefully placing the girl on the floor. She seemed to have trouble moving by herself.

"What about you two? Do you have any laptops with decorations?" The young man looked from the girl to Claire, but then looked away rather quickly. She exhaled through her teeth, feeling her temper getting to her. "It's not a hard question—"

"Um, I don't, I – sorry, no, I don't," he finally managed, sitting down and catching his breath. His brown hair was matted against his forehead, like Claire's had been, but he didn't seem to care, rummaging through one of the two bags he'd been carrying instead of brushing it off.

_Well_, Claire thought, somewhat annoyed, _there goes sitting on a mat or a cushion instead of on the floor_.

"So, what happened to sweet cheeks over there?" Mike asked, leaning over the girl. "What're your names, anyway?"

"I'm Vincent—Vincent Chance," the young man said, with a raspy voice. He coughed a few times before proceeding. He took a sleeping bag out of one of the backpacks, unrolling it. "I think her name is Sophie, but I'm not sure – sorry."

Claire took slow steps in Sophie's direction, taking in her physical state. She seemed to be alright – no injuries, no blood, just mud and water. But her eyes were half-lidded, behind the dirty lenses of her bent glasses, and she was breathing in through her mouth, with low, rough wheezes.

"I found her stumbling out of the tall grass," Vincent told Mike, and Claire had to strain to hear him; his voice was so quiet. "I would've flown us both to the nearest pokécenter, but it's too windy to fly." He seemed apologetic, like the fact that it was raining buckets outside was his fault. "I don't know what happened to her. She was already like this when I found her."

"Huh." Mike crouched, his pale eyes raking over the girl called Sophie. "Seems like stun spore to me. Or some variation of it."

"She's paralyzed?" Claire asked, frowning. "Why didn't she send out her pokémon?"

"Who knows," the smaller boy said, grabbing at her waist. Claire tensed, but relaxed when it became clear Mike was only trying to get a better look at her pokémon belt. "Two of her pokémon are knocked out. One of them is close to fainting, too, I think—oh, man, lucky break!"

And he nicked the fourth pokéball out of her belt, releasing the magcargo in it without a second thought. Vincent's eyes were so wide Claire wouldn't have been surprised if they popped out of their sockets.

"C'est quoi ce bordel!" she said, tensing up (and immediately regretting it; her rib throbbed). "Are you _crazy_?"

"But it's warm," Mike complained, approaching the confused magcargo with his hands extended. The fire pokémon looked from its trainer to Mike, and something in its expression shifted.

"You—you—_branleur_! Ah, shit," she hissed, pulling out Lambert's pokéball and releasing it. "Cover him, Lambert!"

Her sandslash moved in front of Mike, his paws crossed in front of him. The magcargo didn't act, but its expression remained suspicious.

"The hell, man," the boy said, glaring at her, like _she_ was the one without a brain.

"Releasing another trainer's pokémon while they look like they're halfway into death isn't a smart thing to do, you lousy piece of shit!" she bellowed, feeling her cheeks flush. "Return it now, or I swear to _god_ I'll put you out of commission."

Mike's eyes paused on hers, but then he grinned sheepishly, the threat in his gaze lost.

"Yeah, yeah, fine." He returned the magcargo to his pokéball. He played with it for a few seconds, and then crouched down to pin it on Sophie's belt.

"And releasing a potentially harmful fire pokémon inside a shrub," she muttered under her breath, while returning Lambert to his pokéball, "honestly, the hell's wrong with you?"

Vincent, who'd only been fidgety before, was now clearly nervous, his free hand planted on his belt. Mike didn't seem to realize, or he simply didn't care; he sat down next to Sophie's unconscious body and looked distinctly bored.

"Now what? Does anyone have a parlyz heal?" he asked, resting his chin on his hand.

"I don't think that works on people," Vincent said reticently. He moved towards Sophie, and placed the sleeping bag on the floor; carefully, he managed to drag her on top of it, though he didn't cover her.

"It doesn't." Claire sighed, allowing her anger to seep out. "We just have to wait for now. It'll go away – stun spore is only permanent in pokémon. Our immune systems are developed differently."

"Wow! I didn't think you knew anything apart from yelling at people," Mike said, looking genuinely impressed.

Claire glared at him.

"It's basic biology, asshole."

"How much time 'till she wakes up, Professor Claire?"

She ignored the urge to throttle the shorter boy. Vincent was looking from Mike to Claire with a worried expression.

"I don't know," she said, letting the half-lie tumble out of her gritted teeth. She'd read about it – of course she had; one was never_too_ prepared – and she was angry at herself for not being able to remember the exact time the spore effects lasted. It was sloppiness, that's what it was. Her bruised rib was throbbing in time with her heart, and she couldn't focus. "It's not like we're leaving anytime soon, though. We have time."

The sound of the storm outside was softened by the canopy of leaves, but it was still loud enough that Claire assumed it was still going strong. Plus – the memory of having to escape Big and Smile was still fresh on her mind, and while she did want revenge, she'd much rather do it with a fully healed team and a clear sky.

"Um, sorry, but – did either of you have trouble with mightyena on your way here?" Vincent asked, looking at Mike. His eyes flickered towards Claire, but only for a second.

"Mm," said Mike, distractedly. He was still looking ahead, towards the wall of the secret base.

"I was chased by two mightyena," Claire said, and couldn't keep the embarrassment out of her voice. "Were you chased, too?"

"Ah, um. You could say that? I mean, you could, um, yes, you could definitely say that," he managed, looking at the ground. "I had a rough time bringing, er, Sophie here. I was lucky to find a secret base, I guess." He brushed wet hair out of his eyes; he was frowning at the ground. "The pack must be running out of food – I mean, I'm not sure, of course, it's just a hunch."

"Food?" Claire muttered, and wanted to cross her arms, but refrained from doing so. The painkillers were wearing out already. She snorted, instead. "Doubt it. They were dead set on chasing me. Plus – there's more than enough zigzagoon and linoone out there. Why bother attacking a trainer?"

Vincent flushed.

"Right. Sorry."

"Yo, I think I know this girl," Mike said, leaning over Sophie's face.

"For crying out loud, back away from her," Claire said, looking away from Vincent. "Do you not know what personal space is?"

"Oh, I know what it is; I just don't care about it," he retorted, waving a dismissive hand. "Just, okay—look, isn't this Prof. Masters' daughter? I've seen her on TV a few times. I'm pretty sure that's her."

"Masters?" Vincent piped in, looking at Sophie's wet face. Her glasses were still askew. "Really? Didn't he retire a few months ago?"

"Yeah, but I heard his daughter was taking his position," Mike replied. He carefully set her glasses the right way, and then grinned. "Oh, yeah, this is her alright: soon-to-be Prof. Sophie Masters."

"I can't believe a professor to-be would let herself get attacked," Claire said, clicking her tongue. "She should know better than that. And why doesn't she have an aide?"

"My guess is that she's still an aide, herself," Mike said, looking thoughtful for once. Then, he looked at Claire, smirking. "Plus, you were attacked, too, so I don't think you have the right to say that."

"Va te faire enculer," she bit back, flushing.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, stretching and falling back on the floor. "I'm starting to get kinda drowsy. Since _someone_ didn't let me dry off, though, I guess I'll just have to strip."

Mike gave her a very significant look. Claire rolled her eyes, feeling testy.

"I don't _care_ if you want to sleep au naturel," she said, limping back to her bag. Her rib was starting to bother her again. She knew it would be best if she slept on it, but she wouldn't be able to without painkillers.

The smaller boy looked both disappointed and impressed: "Huh. I was expecting you to fly off the handle, to be honest."

"I don't care about seeing you naked," she said dryly, kneeling carefully by her bag. "Just don't expect me to follow your lead."

"I wasn't _really_ going to sleep naked," Mike grumbled, pulling off his soaked shirt. "I'm not that shameless."

Claire didn't bother replying. Vincent, though, stared at Mike, looking slightly bothered, like he wanted to say something. Like the rest of them, he was soaked to the bone as well, though Claire highly doubted he wanted to take his clothes off. Popping two pills in her mouth, she watched him, vaguely curious.

He had a familiar sort of face, like the cashiers who worked at a pokémart or something. He looked older than she did, too – he was old enough to shave, at least. She frowned, then; he had to be a capable trainer, to have managed to bring along an unconscious girl through a maze of tall grass and mightyena—but he behaved like a newbie.

"Vincent, do you have a fire type we can use?" she called out, placing the pills back in her bag and searching for her sleeping bag.

"Um. Yeah, sorry – I meant to tell you, but I didn't want to interrupt—"

"Really!?" Mike exclaimed, sitting up rather suddenly. "Oh man, that's great news! What are you waiting for, release it, come on, I'm freezing my ass out here!"

Claire glanced over her shoulder, curious. Vincent looked from her to Mike, wide-eyed, but nodded, searching his belt. With a casual gesture and a flick of red light, a ninetales appeared.

"Sweet baby Jesus," Mike gasped, and Claire hated herself for having been as surprised as he had. "A _ninetales_? Oh man, where did you get it? Did you manage to catch a vulpix at Mt. Pyre? Still, wow, managing to evolve it—man, oh man, you must be really patient!"

Vincent smiled sheepishly, but let it fade when he noticed Claire's narrowed eyes.

"We can't set up a fire in here," she said. "And since a ninetales doesn't exude heat—"

"Oh my god, who the _fuck_ cares," Mike said, for once looking somewhat serious. "Look, you might not mind dying of hypothermia, but I'm starting to get really cold, and this isn't how I imagined my death would go like." Claire glared at him, but he looked indifferent. Turning towards Vincent, he asked: "Look, does he – oh, sorry – does _she_ have enough control to hold a will-o-wisp for a while?"

Vincent nodded, albeit a bit unsurely. Ninetales gave Mike a look of superiority, hiking her maws, and then flicked her tails. Vincent's persian, who'd been around the entrance, walked languorously towards its trainer, and then curled around his back.

"Chama, contained will-o-wisp," he said, with a short nod, and the ninetales – Chama – opened her mouth to let out a singular blue flame; Claire held her breath, waiting for the flame to fall onto the floor and to spread across the pine needles, burning them all – but it didn't happen. Chama closed her mouth, eyes focused on the blue fire, and then flicked an ear dismissively.

"Cool," Mike said, and Claire agreed, though she didn't voice it. The air in the secret base gradually became hotter, and she unclenched her muscles, feeling warm at last. "Are you a contester?"

Vincent blinked in surprise, looking up from his persian – he'd been scratching its neck.

"How did you know?"

"Only contesters and hardcore trainers teach their pokémon to recognize degrees of attacks," he said, smiling impishly. He was holding his shirt near the will-o-wisp, looking rather content. "I take it she's your main beauty offender?"

Claire walked towards the will-o-wisp, feeling a reluctant need to thank Vincent. She wouldn't, of course; she didn't want to admit she'd been wrong about Chama's skills. Dropping her sleeping bag at her feet, she turned to the will-o-wisp and took her shirt off.

Vincent, who had been in the middle of telling Mike about his contesting endeavors, flushed red and turned away hurriedly. Mike only raised one eyebrow.

"I thought you weren't going to follow my lead?"

"Oh, tais-toi," she said blandly, not in the mood to argue. "I want to dry my clothes, too; my sleeping bag's gonna get all wet otherwise."

The shorter boy shrugged, facing Vincent once more. Then, noticing the older boy had turned away, he laughed.

"Dude, really? It's not like there's much to look at."

"Avale mes couilles, grosse pute," Claire hissed, flushing in anger. "Mange ma bite."

"Okay, at least insult me in a way I can understand what you're saying," Mike replied, still grinning. "And I was referring to that top you're wearing, not your tits. But if the shoe fits—"

"Look, _Mike_ – just piss off, okay?" she snarled, the knuckles wrapped around her shirt whitening.

The smaller boy opened his grinning mouth, but then closed it, shrugging. Running his fingers across the surface of his shirt, he smiled widely.

"Wow, Vinnie, your ninetales sure works fast!" He put on his shirt, and then gave a long, content sigh. Bending over slightly, he undid his belt, about to pull off his pants. He stopped, then, his expression compressing into acute focus. "What's that?"

"If you're about to dick around again—" Claire started, glaring, but Mike just waved his hand at her, his other one on his lips, asking for silence. She closed her mouth, frowning, and a few seconds of quietness elapsed. Outside, the rain was still drumming consistently, but Claire didn't hear anything else.

But Vincent, who had been turned away all this time, stood up and looked around the secret base, frowning. He was still flushed, which annoyed Claire, but (although he avoided looking at her for too long) he, too, analyzed every corner of the burrow.

She was starting to feel left out when she, too, heard the faraway wail of several mightyena.


	2. love's a risk

**A/N: **Went back and edited Claire's nationality. She is now from Kalos (the actual place where French-based characters are from).

* * *

**Chapter Two:  
****Sleeping Beautree Wakes Up****  
**

.

.

"Chama," Vincent murmured immediately, and the ninetales stood up and swallowed the will-o-wisp she'd previously created. The smoke slithered between Chama's teeth, and Claire was impressed, but not as much as she was nervous. Guilty, too. She knew Smile had seen her clamber inside the secret base, but she would've never thought – she didn't _think_ – how could she have assumed this wouldn't have come back to bite her in the ass?

The secret base was immersed in darkness. Claire gripped her drying shirt so hard she heard the fabric stretch between her fingers. She'd forgotten, in the middle of the adrenaline-fueled escape, that mightyena were smart – and above all vengeful. How could she have assumed that Smile wasn't going to get the rest of the pack to avenge Big?

_Dwight Eisenhower said, and I quote: in preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable. What does this mean to you, Ms. Tolbert?_

Mr. Lehrer had asked her that once, when they were learning about some stupid war – and she'd hated it, hated having to study history instead of being able to practice what really mattered. _I don't know, Mr. Lehrer,_ she'd admitted, without an ounce of shame, crossing her arms and staring up at the old man with the kind of defiance only small children can gather. Mr. Lehrer had – of course – sighed, and then had proceeded to ask someone else. Claire had sat down again, and resumed staring out the window of the classroom.

_What _did_ it mean anyway_, she thought, angry at herself for continuously digging up Mr. Lehrer's life advices. She always had plans, always managed to make them work, and that was why she was so freaking good as a trainer. And it wasn't just confidence – she was good. She was real good. How could planning be indispensable while plans were useless? Eisenhower obviously hadn't known jack shit.

"Okaaay," Mike whispered. Claire's eyes had already grown used to the darkness; she could see him scratch the nape of his neck, frowning. "I'm guessing they're hunting. It's a waxing gibbous moon tonight, makes sense."

Claire didn't know what a waxing gibbous moon _was_, but she didn't particularly care – what she did care about was that the pack was on the move tonight.

"It's raining, though – not like they can see the moon," she said.

Mike's eyes hadn't adapted yet. She saw him turn his head in her direction, squinting briefly, and then choosing to roll his eyes instead.

"It doesn't _matter_ if they can't see it. It's not that the hunt is conditioned by whether the moon is visible or not, it's more like – I dunno, they schedule it according to its states. Of course," he went on, looking oddly serious, "they only hunt in large packs when something big is up. Usually, a group of four or five does the trick, but … " he let the words hang.

"How do _you_ know that?" she let slip, suspicious.

"I know a lot of stuff," he said, with a grin. "It's okay, though, don't let it get you down. Not everyone can be as amazing—"

"Okay, whatever," Claire cut in, looking at Vincent. He, like Mike, seemed not to see as well as she did in the darkness; wearing a stony face, he looked even more serious than Mike had. This didn't really surprise Claire. Alex had always said, _y'know, Claire, if you watch someone when they're not paying attention, you'll get to see their true selves_. And she'd filed it under 'bullshit', because she didn't really care about other people. But she'd learned Alex had been right. He always was, anyway. "We'll be fine. How many pokémon do we have if we pool them together?"

"Uhh, I have three active, but my altaria's almost knocked out. So—two healthy. A seviper and a graveler."

"Vincent?"

He looked surprised to have been addressed.

"Oh. Um. Just healthy ones?"

"Yes," she growled, impatiently, and watched him fidget in the darkness.

"Sorry, right – three healthy. Apart from Chama and Garra – sorry, that's persian – I have a steelix, too."

Mike whistled. "You have some wicked party, man. Hey, do you have any medicine you'd like to share? Me and Claire over there are out of luck."

"No, I only have status healers. Sorry."

"Okay," Claire cut in, "I have three healthy with me, plus two near-knockout. My lairon can hold its ground against three mightyena, maybe four if one of them's underdeveloped. My cacturne is—"

"Look, not wanting to interrupt your strategic plans, Colonel Claire," Mike cut in, frowning at her, "but why are you assuming we're going to need to fight … the pack … " His eyes widened, then, and confusion gave way to accusation as he narrowed them. "You said you'd been chased." Claire looked away; Mike's voice was steely. "… They saw you come in here, didn't they?"

Claire opted not to answer, instead putting her shirt back on. Her face was hot – it was bad enough that she was angry at herself for having been so mindless, but to have her mistake thrown at her like that?

"Sorry," Vincent said, voice surprisingly steady. He was looking at the floor; he hadn't noticed Mike had been talking to Claire, not him. "I wasn't careful enough – I thought I could leave the secret base before they tried to get me again."

"He was talking to me," Claire said, and meant for it to come out as steady as Vincent's voice had been, but her voice softened. She glared at the floor, feeling weak.

"Oh, this is fucking pathetic," Mike said, groaning, a hand massaging his forehead. He took a breath, then another. "Okay, so the pack knows we're here. Fucking great."

"If we hold out—" Vincent began, hopefully, but Mike was having none of it.

"Look, I'm glad you're an idealist, but I'm not, okay? I'm glad the two of you think – seven? No, _eight_ pokémon can hold out against a pack of thirty-plus mightyena, but that's not gonna happen! And—I think I've said this before, but this isn't the way I want to go out, okay?"

He sighed, then, and it was bitter and long.

"Well," Claire said, through a tight jaw, "I'd rather accomplish my life dreams than to get torn apart by wild pokémon, too, but here we are."

Mike's expression softened, and he looked regretful for a quick moment, but then turned away, staring at the entrance of the secret base. The silence was heavy, so Claire broke it.

"Moving on," she said, inhaling, "if we assume that the pack will want revenge for having been attacked—" Smile had looked at her, had _marked_ her, and she knew now that they were probably coming back for her (and Vincent, apparently), "—we need to have a plan. Let's rule out the impossibilities first. The weather won't let us fly too far, but in case of an emergency, I'm guessing we can use it to escape to somewhere near here, at least."

"Um, sorry – the weather's too lousy for that," Vincent said. "I couldn't fly at all. So – um."

Claire nodded at him.

"Okay, flying's out. What next – does anyone have a pokémon with teleport?"

Vincent shook his head apologetically.

"Mike?"

"No," was the curt answer.

Claire tightened her jaw, thinking. Once, she'd been stranded in Dewford Cave—no, but she already had Lambert at that time, and he'd dug her out of there, not applicable. She'd gotten lost in Mt. Pyre's misty hills once – no, but she'd flown; she had still been training with Josephine at that point. She flexed and loosened her fingers, mind working hard—"Oh, wait, of course," she said, annoyed, rolling her blue eyes. "Who has a pokénav with them?"

Vincent shook his head, but Mike turned on the ball of his feet, expression less tense.

"I've got one," he said, fishing his pokénav out of his pocket. "Why, what about it?"

She stared at him, baffled – "well, just _call _someone, won't you? We can just ask for help."

Mike sighed, putting his pokénav back in his pocket.

"Afraid you'd say that. Mine's the old version."

"Ah, merde," Claire hissed, feeling more frustrated with each hypothesis discarded. She wanted to ask Mike why he hadn't gotten around to buying the new version (with the indispensable match call update), but thought better of it. "Mine's out of commission; I think water got inside it," she added, after noticing Mike's raised eyebrow.

Running a hand through her wet, sticky hair, she attempted to ignore the hot feeling spreading across her stomach. Stealing a glance at Vincent, she felt the sudden need to kick him in the face. Who travelled without a pokénav? Mike had the old version, sure, but he still _had_ one, so—

"Um," Vincent said, after noticing Claire had been glaring at him for the past ten seconds, "sorry. Ah, er, all I have is a pokégear."

She straightened in interest.

"Does it work?"

He shrugged awkwardly, looking as if the last thing he wanted in the world was to rile Claire even more.

"Well, I've, um, I've uploaded it with Hoenn maps," Vincent said, awkwardly, "but the service isn't – I mean – it's not as good as a pokénav."

"Have you _tried_ it?" she asked, aware of that hot anger bubbling up through her throat.

"No, um, sorry—"

"Dude, calm down, it's cool," Mike told Vincent, giving Claire a significant look before turning to the older boy once more. "Look, pokénavs don't get service inside secret bases, and since you say your pokégear isn't as good as a one, I don't think we'll be able to call anyone while we're stuck here." He sighed curtly, and then smiled bitterly. "Unless someone would like to volunteer to take a walk outside to try—dibs on staying here—and find service, I don't think we're going to be able to ask for help."

Claire growled curses under her breath, but eventually relented.

"Fine. Just – fine, okay. I propose we get some sleep, then. There's nothing else we can do, anyway." She kicked at her sleeping bag, regretting it as soon as her bruised rib twanged painfully. "Vincent, tell Chama to bring out another will-o-wisp so we don't freeze to death."

The taller boy nodded, after a beat, and whispered something to his ninetales. She yawned sleepily, and a flurry of blue flames came rushing out of her mouth, stilling once they were in the air. Garra, still curled beside Vincent, watched them with unimpressed eyes.

Mike stretched, yawning without bothering to cover his mouth, and then walked towards his bag. Claire kneeled on the floor carefully, attempting to set her sleeping bag the right way without moving too much. She'd finished laying down when she remembered she was supposed to sleep on her bruised rib – and she wouldn't be able do so without taking another set of painkillers. _I should've bought the most powerful ones instead of the ones for cramps_, she thought, seething.

Mike, a few feet away from her, was already inside his sleeping bag, turned away from her and Vincent. Claire could pick up on his even breath; he seemed to be asleep already.

With a groan, she sat up, trying to find a way to stand up without injuring herself further. She was about to give up and sleep on her left side instead, when Garra dropped her bag in her lap. Claire blinked, surprised, but Garra just turned around and went to lie down next to Vincent, who was turned away from her, rummaging through his bag.

Her anger subsided, just slightly. She stared at Vincent, who didn't seem to find whatever he was looking for, and then frowned.

"Thanks," she said, nonchalantly, searching through her own bag for the painkillers' box.

Vincent stilled, only slightly, but then continued messing through his bag. Claire popped two pills inside her mouth, as usual, and then lay down, staring at the hovering will-o-wisp until sleep came.

* * *

She was standing on a battle stand. Her hands were damp; she rolled Marie's pokéball on her palm and it slid slower than usual. She huffed, trying to wipe her hands on her shorts, but the bald old man – the referee – gave the sign, and she stopped. With a determined nod in Marie's pokéball's direction, she released her.

On the other side, a golbat loomed, smirking. _Okay_, Claire thought, _poison is weak to psychic. It's fine_. Marie hopped from one foot to the other, watching, a glint in her eyes. Claire's throat was dry. She wanted a glass of water, but the bald old man had shackled her foot to the floor. She had to stay.

"Marie," she called, "come _on_, you can do this! Just focus!"

"Marie seems incapable of using her power," Mr. Lehrer said, shaking his head. He was the referee. _But Mr. Lehrer isn't bald_, Claire thought, frowning.

The golbat flapped his wings, picking up speed, and Claire saw the silver lining of his claw. Marie went flying, her eyes closed, her tiny wings fluttering as she went. She chirped, but didn't attack; her foe didn't have that problem, striking her again, and again, and again … Claire was shouting, now, words of plea disguised behind anger and frustration, and the golbat was still grinning, finally floating towards the other side of the field. She'd show him, she would, but Marie wasn't waking up. She'd been knocked out; Claire wanted to run towards her, wanted to do _something_, but she'd been chained down. She couldn't move. She couldn't.

The golbat's tongue was lolling out of his grotesque mouth, tiny flecks of spit shining there, under the bright lights of the room. Claire gritted her teeth and returned Marie to her pokéball.

On the other side of the field, Claire could see her opponent, a brown-haired boy, but she hadn't _heard_ him yet. He didn't even need to call out to his pokémon. She started cursing him, but what she said was: "I really need a glass of water, Mr. Lehrer." She blinked, then. "Uh, may I be excused?" she tacked on blandly, remembering Alex's insistent stance on politeness.

Mr. Lehrer looked up from the papers he was grading, looking tired as always, and nodded. Claire stood up from her chair and walked out of the classroom, closing the door behind her.

She was standing on a battle stand. She'd lost, but the golbat smiled at her anyway, up until the bald old man accompanied her outside. Claire looked over her shoulder, trying to memorize the golbat's trainer's face, but the doors shut and she found herself once more by the counter. The battle tent was almost empty, and she was relieved – it meant no one had seen her lose.

"I feel privileged for having seen your pokémon's exploits," he told her, with a kind smile, but Claire hardly took notice. Her hands were shaking. Her throat was so dry.

"I've never lost before," she said, and her voice was steady, though her whole body was trembling. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand, Ms. Tolbert?" asked Mr. Lehrer, from his desk.

* * *

Someone was shaking her by the shoulders, Claire noticed. Her chest hurt.

"Wait! Don't do that," a man's voice called out, "she's got a bruised rib, I think—"

They stopped abruptly. With suddenly gentle hands, they set her down again.

"Really? Oh, shit, I didn't – er, well, _you _wake her up, then. She sleeps like the freakin' dead," a boy said.

Claire opened her eyes, feeling groggy. It was darker than before, which meant she hadn't slept for long. She swallowed, and tried to sit up, pressing her elbows against the floor. Her rib throbbed, and she winced, but remained sitting up. Mike was crouched next to her, a semi-apologetic smile pasted over a strained expression. Chama was gone, but Garra was still there, swishing its tail and glancing at the wall.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart," he said, but his voice lacked the impish tone he always seemed to glaze it with. "Get your stuff. We need to leave."

"What time is it?" she asked, brushing mud-spattered hair out of her face. Her mouth was dry; she smacked her tongue a few times before kneeling on the floor with a wince. She needed an ice pack, but all she had in her backpack were heating pads.

"Twelve-twenty. You didn't sleep for long," Mike said, throwing his bag over his back.

Claire took in the information, trying to make some sense of her day as she rolled her sleeping bag into her bag. She'd left Fortree at three thirty—she'd expected to leave only the following day, but Fortree was full of Aqua grunts, and Claire knew herself well enough to assume she'd get into fights with them—and had been walking for half an hour when the storm struck. She knew she should've gone back, but Claire didn't like showing weakness, not even to herself – she went on. That's when she'd been ambushed by Big and Smile, who'd chased her for … half an hour? She wasn't sure. It had seemed minutes, but she could tell the time from her decreasing stamina. Which meant she'd barged inside the secret base around four? Four and a half?

"What's the situation?" she asked, closing her backpack. She'd set the painkillers' box inside one of the outer pockets for easier access, but she'd also slipped some pills inside her pocket, in case she had to take some under pressure. Checking her belt again, she nodded, putting on her bag—_motherfucker._ Her chest felt hot and shattered and she dropped her bag as quickly as she'd grabbed it, taking a rasping breath. She saw white, even after closing her eyes, and closed her fists as tightly as possibly – pain was weakness and she wasn't weak. She opened her eyes again—

And then Vincent was bending over, putting her bag over his with an awkward expression. Claire grit her teeth, wanting to tell him off, wanting to _feel_ the pain, overcome it. _I know you're proud, Claire, but pride can become foolishness if you choose not to tame it,_ Alex had said, once, his hand brushing back her bangs. She'd leaned into his hand, basking in the summer sun, feeling calm. _Would you rather die with honor or survive and show them what you're made of? _She breathed in, jaw tight, for once wishing she had a pokémon who could carry her bag.

"Thanks," she managed, but it was aggressive and short, shot between teeth. Vincent swallowed in reply, quietly, and that irritated her, but Mike called out to them.

Looking away from Vincent, Claire felt a soft dab of surprise brush across her features: an electabuzz was carrying Sophie's still unconscious body on its arms. She frowned, briefly, but then decided she didn't particularly care (even if neither Vincent nor Mike had told her they had an electabuzz).

"Okay, uh—what was his name again, Vinnie?" Mike said, looking around the base.

"Oh, it's – it's Tesla. You know, like the—"

"Excuse me," Claire cut in, feeling annoyed, "do you mind telling me what's going on? Why are we moving out?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Mike replied, one sarcastic eyebrow raised. Behind him, his seviper – Hemlock, Claire remembered – was tasting the air, looking oddly pleased. "We can't stay here anymore. The mightyena are getting louder, which means they're getting closer. We have to leave before they reach us."

Claire bristled. She knew that a particularly large pack would have no trouble tearing apart a secret base – in which case they'd be trapped like rats – but was the option of leaving the apparent safety of the base really better than to wait for the weather to clear? She felt annoyed at herself: of course it was. But she didn't want to be led. She was used to being the one in charge, used to being responsible for herself.

"If they wanted to kill us, they'd been here already," she argued. "They know where we are."

"No," Mike said, shaking his head condescendingly. Claire narrowed her eyes at him. "Two mightyena – was it? – right, two mightyena knew where we are. Clearly, they went back to the alpha mightyena, asking for moral and physical support," he finished, with a sickeningly sweet voice. "I can just picture it – hey, boss, we've got these tasty trainers cooped up inside this stupid-ass bush—"

"Fine, I get it. Have the two of you already planned where we're headed?"

Vincent glanced at Mike, waiting for him to speak. The shorter boy scratched his neck.

"If I'm right – which I usually am – were at the middle base right now. There are—" he stopped, eyes looking up, as if searching for the answer, "—five secret bases in this route. Which means that we have two bases north of here, one in the south, and another one southwest. We're not going north, because we'd have to cross a considerably large tall grass field, and with the rain—"

"We can't tell if the grass is moving because of pokémon or water, yes, I get it," she cut in, urging him on with an impatient wave of her hand.

"Right," he said, looking at her with a combination of amusement and awe. "But we haven't picked the one we're going to apart from those two. The southwestern base is on top of a hill, but there's more open field on the way there. The southern one is closer, but we'd have to go through tall grass again. I say we discuss it while on the run, though – it'll still take us some time to get to the bifurcation and I'd _really_ like to get the hell out of this shrub."

Claire cocked her head, watching Mike make way for the secret base's opening. Hemlock slithered down before him, edged tail shaking.

"There's nothing to discuss – we're going for the southwestern," she said, following him. Vincent and Tesla were in the back; she could see Sophie's legs hanging off the electabuzz's arm through the corner of her eye. "There's less tall grass, which means we'll be able to see incoming attacks. Plus, it's on top of a hill, which means that even though we have to climb, so do the mightyena. Our victory is assured as soon as we get to the top; I'm confident in my abilities as a trainer, and I'm sure I can defeat the pack as long as the battlefield is to our advantage."

Mike, who'd been peering outside, turned to her, his expression unreadable. Then, he grinned, baring all his teeth.

"Fine by me, Colonel," he said, and exited the secret base. Claire did the same, refusing to wince when she had to crouch through the opening.

Outside, the storm carried on. It hadn't softened one bit, Claire noticed, feeling bitter. In fact, it seemed to be even worse; the rain drops were icy and heavy, pelting her in the face when she tried to get a good look at the clouds (which were dark and full).

Mike kicked at the mud, crinkling his nose: "… can't even ride a stinking bike without sliding… "

Vincent joined them, looking pale as he glanced around; he was the tallest one of the group. The top of Claire's head reached his noise, and she wanted to ask him if he could see anything significant, but refused to do so, feeling too helpless for her liking. Thankfully, Mike didn't have such problems.

"You see anything?"

The taller boy shook his head. "It's like – um – Claire said before. All the tall grass is moving."

"Fuck this weather," Mike said, in reply, and then bent over, pulling out his pokénav from his pocket only when his torso covered it from the rain. _Clever thinking_, Claire thought, despite herself. "Okay, there should be a hiking trail though the tall grass, just a few minutes away from here. After that, we head left – which is south – and then keep going until we reach a ledge. Clear field all the way to the base, after."

He put his pokénav on his pocket once more, straightening. His seviper tasted the air again.

"Hemlock should tell us if the pack gets too close – though I'm guessing the air is full of mightyena pheromones, so I wouldn't count too much on her tongue. Still, she's our best intruder alarm," he added, with a grin. "Vinnie's Garra over there will join us, too. Wanna send out one of your own?"

"I was planning on it," Claire said, rolling her eyes. With a practiced movement, she released Capucine, who blinked at her owlishly. "Capucine – in the case of a mightyena attack, prioritize brick break," she added, in a murmur. Her cacturne smiled at her, nodding.

"Man, you guys are such fucking showoffs," Mike said grouchily, staring at Capucine.

"Says the guy with a seviper?" she bit back, but couldn't help the amusement from creeping onto her voice.

Mike grinned, and, after looking at Claire and Vincent, who nodded at him, began walking in silence.

Claire's shirt was already wet, and the added weight annoyed her, even if the cold relieved her rib. She didn't think much about it, though; she needed to plan what to do in case of an attack. It was the best thing to do, after all, and she never went without a strategy.

Vincent had said he had a steelix, and steelix could learn how to whip up sandstorms through training alone. If his steelix did, indeed, have sandstorm, then Capucine would tag-team him; sand veil upped her evasion, and while fighting against a horde of mightyena, it would probably come in handy.

She glanced over her shoulder, searching for Tesla. It was trudging through the mud, right behind Vincent, Sophie's body in his arms. _This means we can't use him_, she thought, bitterly. _Besides, Vincent did say he wasn't totally healthy._ They were already between a rock and a hard place, but having to bring along an unconscious person just made things even harder.

Hemlock – she thought, turning to look at the snake – on the other hand, was a double-edged sword. Or, it would be, if she hadn't had Océane with her. Although she did much better on water, it was the only poison-immune pokémon Claire had, and that meant she didn't have to worry about Hemlock's tail accidentally poisoning her. But Océane was almost knocked out—

"Ugh," Claire groaned; she'd walked into Mike, who'd stopped abruptly. He made a frantic hand movement, bringing his other hand to his mouth, and Claire tensed, trading a look with Capucine. The cacturne cocked her head, looking at her expectantly, but Claire, after making sure her pokémon understood she was meant to keep quiet, turned to look at Hemlock. The seviper was moving its tail in an undulating, almost hypnotic movement, its tongue shivering between its jaws. Claire almost couldn't tell, because of the rain, but then Hemlock's eyes settled upon the tall grass, and her tail stopped.

"Fuck," Mike whispered, and Claire's heart sank when she noticed Smile glaring at them from between the tall blades of grass. It still seemed to be grinning, but abandoned the apparent cheerfulness in order to let out a loud, keening howl.

"We have to _go_," Claire hissed, pulling Mike – who seemed to have been transfixed by Smile – and starting to run. Her chest heaved and burned, stinging like acid beneath skin, but she knew that she'd rather break her already bruised rib than to end up as food. It was obvious, after all. Mike blinked, surprised, and stumbled, but eventually picked up, running awkwardly after her.

Until he wasn't after her – he was before her, his hiking boots gaining speed Claire couldn't match. She watched him with wide eyes, a burning feeling that had nothing to do with her ribs spreading across her chest. It wasn't fair that she was slower, because Claire _knew_ she was better than him, she knew she could run faster and battle better and _be_ better than anyone, but Mike, uninjured, kept picking up speed. Claire's sneakers skidded, and she felt the weightless dizziness that comes with a fall, but then Vincent's hands were on her shoulders, firm but careful.

"I'm fine," she hissed, pulling her shoulder away from his cold, wet hands, her voice breathy. Mike had stopped, aware that Claire and Vincent had slowed down, and was waving at them from the bifurcation. She hastened to meet him, to keep going, without so much as a look towards Vincent, and then Mike's face paled, even though the flush on his cheeks had since long gone. Claire took in his wide eyes, staring at something behind her, and then she turned, feeling cold.

A mightyena had jumped from the grass, and Claire only had the time to inhale before she noticed its muddy claws were extended towards Vincent's throat, not hers. Time seemed to halt; her mouth failed to work properly as she shouted Capucine's name. Vincent's brown, wide eyes stopped on hers; he was pulling his head back, but she knew the mightyena's momentum was too powerful for him to get out of the way. Her cacturne reached forward, trying to get in front of Vincent, but Claire knew her pokémon better than she knew herself, and Capucine wouldn't get there in time—

And then the mightyena was hit, mid-air, whining and growling at the same time. Claire felt a sudden warmth reflecting on her face; the smell of burning hair wafted through her nose before it vanished, replaced by the smell of rain and dirt once more. Her heart was beating, hard, as she searched for the mightyena; it was trying to get back on its feet, but its foreleg was burned, the flesh burnt and raw. It snarled at them, crouching low to the ground, ready to jump again.

"Again," said a calm voice, and the heat Claire had previously felt was born again. This time, she could see why; a torrent of flames shot from behind her, drumming into the mightyena's injured leg again. It barked, its voice breaking, and then tried backing away, hind legs skidding in the mud.

"Brick break, now!" Claire shouted, and Capucine slid across the mud, right arm slicing across the mightyena's neck effortlessly. There was a loud crack, softened by the rain, and the mightyena fell to the ground. It didn't try to get back again. But Claire didn't care, as she turned on her heel, meeting Sophie's eyes. She was standing now, albeit still holding onto Tesla's arm.

"Good evening," she said, in a quiet – though steady – voice, removing her wet glasses and hanging them on the collar of her shirt.


End file.
